


Accidentally On Purpose

by thatdarkhairedgirl



Category: That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, F/M, Kickassia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5694844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdarkhairedgirl/pseuds/thatdarkhairedgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kickassia, it is a long, <i>long</i> drive back to the hotel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidentally On Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in July 2011, based on a prompt from the kink meme.

The Nostalgia Chick knows that her life is going pretty well. She’s out of school, she’s back in New York, and for once, she has a job that she actually _likes_. It’s a pretty good gig, working for the website: she can review what she wants to, she has complete creative control, and she was _this close_ to achieving total world domination barely an hour ago. If she’d been able to hold onto her nostalgic counterpart’s fancy hat for more than a minute, everything would have turned out fine.

But she didn’t hold onto the hat, and even though she regrets it now, the whole episode is over and done with. Her dreams to rule the world with an iron fist have been dashed upon the jagged rocks of reality, and all Chick wants is to just get back to the hotel, where she can call her beleaguered BFF and get some sympathy from Nella before crashing for the night. She doesn’t even care that the entire plan failed, or about how Critic keeps mumbling and moaning like a cranky toddler about not getting his rocket chair – really, the only problem she has with the whole mess that Kickassia turned out to be is the fact that right now, just because she’s the smallest member of the Channel Awesome Team, their “fearless leader” seems to think that means he can just throw her wherever the hell he wants and be done with it.

“No way,” Chick says, giving the Nostalgia Critic her cruelest glare as she crosses her arms over her chest. “No _fucking_ way, Critic.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Critic steps away from the open door to the minivan, tugging at her elbow as he does and pulling her off to the side. “You make it sound like I’m asking you to murder a puppy, or something.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“You can’t make me.”

“ _Chick –_ ”

“I am _not_ sitting on somebody’s lap!”

He narrows his eyes at her. “There isn’t enough room for you to get a seat of your own, and the other van’s already left. After everything you did today, you’re just lucky I’m not making you _walk_.”

“Bullshit. _I’m_ the only reason you’re not dead right now.”

Critic tugs at the tattered remnants of his cape, adjusting the collar as nonchalantly as he can. “That’s debatable. But if you want to tromp off through the desert, go right ahead. Be my guest.”

“Get someone else to move! Make Film Brain do it!”

“You know, if the seating arrangements bother you so much, you could always share the floor with Mickey.”

Almost as if on cue, 8-Bit Mickey’s arm flies up from between the two bucket seats of the minivan and he waves at her. Chick shudders.

“ _…Fine_ ,” she hisses through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to stamp her foot. “But I _better_ get a window seat.”

Critic gives an exaggerated little bow, nodding his head and waving her off toward the waiting van with the hand holding the car keys. Snob walks past and plucks them out of his hand, giving the Critic a little shove as he moves past him to the opposite side of the car. Critic stumbles slightly and steadies himself, and for a moment there, Chick almost feels bad for him. But then she remembers everything he’s done in the past week or so, and all her charitable feelings fly right on out the window.

Chick pushes past him and steps up to the minivan, standing with her hands on either side of the open doorway as she assesses her options. Film Brain, Mickey, and Handsome Tom have taken over the middle row, leaving Phelous, Spoony, and Angry Joe to squish themselves together in the very back of the van.

“Dude, quit elbowin’ me!”

“Get your knee off of mine and I’ll think about it.”

“Would you two move over? I’d rather not suffocate today, thanks.”

They’re like children. Phelous shoves Spoony away and he knocks into Joe, who pushes back hard enough that Spoony winds up bracing himself on the seats in front of him to stop from toppling forward onto 8-Bit Mickey. Film Brain covers his mouth with his hand in an attempt to smother his laughter and Tom just silently shakes his head.

_These_ are her options. Chick glances out toward the desert and wonders how long it would take her to get back on her own. Snob turns the key in the ignition and Tom pulls up his long grasshopper legs so she can climb over him, trying to get into the back seat as gracefully as she can without stepping on anyone else’s toes.

“This is how it’s going to go,” Chick announces, pointing at the three of them in turn as she sets herself down into Joe’s lap. “You won’t speak to me, you’ll keep your hands to yourself, and none of you will _ever_ mention this again.”

Phelous rolls his eyes and Spoony starts to say something, but takes one look at Chick and seems to think the better of it.

“Ooh, baby, say that again.” Joe grins at her as she shifts on his lap, trying to get comfortable. “Just slower. And with your pants off.”

Chick glares at him for a long minute. Joe looks away first.

The drive out of Molossia is pretty, with winding dirt roads and a lot of empty desert to pass through before they can get back to the interstate. An argument breaks out about half an hour in over Critic being given control of the road map, but then Snob finally finds the ramp to the main highway and soon after, the chatter in the car dies down. Film Brain cranes his neck to look at her and the two of them talk for a while – somehow, he wound up with the Othello game Santa Christ brought her and they play with the board balanced on his lap, Chick directing her moves over his shoulder until it gets too dark to see. Phelous huffs out a bored sigh and Tom is already asleep; the radio sputters into nothing but static and Snob finally shuts it off.

It’s really not as bad as Chick thought it was going to be; the only problem she has with being stuck on this particular person’s lap is the fact that Angry Joe moves the same way he laughs – which is to say, _all the time_. He keeps moving the knee he’s got between her legs, tapping his foot against the floor of the van in time with a rhythm he’s keeping in his head. She’s asked him a thousand times to stop, to quit squirming around and let her ride out this horrible nightmare of a drive in peace, but every time he just nods and mutters out an “okay” or a “whatever, Chick,” only to start up again five minutes later.

Critic’s fallen asleep against the passenger seat window, and despite the fact that it’s almost midnight, Snob is having none of it. The road is completely empty when he makes a sharp swerve to left and back again, and Critic smacks his head against the glass.

“ _Ow!_ What the –”

Snob chuckles smugly. Critic is less impressed.

It’s around then that Chick realizes Joe grabbed hold of her waist to keep her steady, but still hasn’t let her go. He’s moved one arm to rest it next to the window, but his other hand is still warm against her side, his thumb moving slowly over the skin of her hip where her t-shirt has ridden up. It feels nice – _better_ than nice – and she holds her breath, waiting for him to stop, but he doesn’t. Chick glances at their reflection in the window and sees that Joe’s head is tipped back, he’s staring up at the ceiling while Snob takes them around another curve. He’s not even paying attention.

Joe starts moving his leg again, his knee is rubbing against _exactly_ the right place and _Jesus_ , is she actually getting _turned on_ right now? She presses her thighs together a bit and tries to think unsexy thoughts; Chick grips the back of the seat in front of her, determinedly thinking of funerals and sad puppies and Chester naked. It’s insane – it is _insane_ – and she squeezes her fists so tightly her knuckles go white, positive everyone in the car must be able to read her face like an open book. But Snob’s driving and Film Brain’s only half-awake, and Spoony and Phelous are busy leaning over the sleeping middle row to shoot spitballs at Critic, which means no one’s paying them the slightest bit of attention.

Chick shifts forward and then back, then to the side, and the feeling she’s getting just from moving against his lap is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. As much as she’s enjoying it, she holds her breath, waiting for Joe to notice what she’s doing. He doesn’t, and Chick stills for a moment, then ever-so-slightly leans forward and starts to move her hips with imperceptible slowness. The part of her brain that is still functioning is telling her she can’t do this here, not with Joe and _definitely_ not in a car full of people – but, _God_ , she’s so turned on, it feels so good, and it’s dark in the car and she wants to so _badly_.

She folds her arms and sets them on the back of the seat in front of her, dropping her head to rest on them and trying her hardest to look casual, like she’s trying to get comfortable enough to sleep even as she feels the familiar heat and pressure building, catching gasps and moans in the back of her throat. She’s moving so slowly it’s almost painful, and it is taking nearly all her willpower to stop herself from going any faster. She catches a glimpse of her face in the corner of the rearview mirror: her lips are parted, her eyes dark. Jesus Christ.

Her breathing quickens and she’s moving just slightly more boldly, the mirror catches a crazy, desperate gleam in her eyes. She’s about to come, and the realization sends a thrill running down her spine. She slowly increases the pressure between them, her movements still painfully slow, and she’s just so _close_ she thinks she might die. She lets out a small, almost inaudible moan, and Film Brain stirs slightly in the seat in front of her, but then she’s coming and biting her lip and so completely _gone_ and it’s – it’s _amazing_. Chick gasps so, so quietly she isn’t sure she’s made a sound at all, pressing her forehead against her arm so no one can see her face.

When it’s over, when she opens her eyes and she feels steady again, she’s still for a good thirty seconds before she’s able to work up the courage to look around the car. Critic’s asleep again, Spoony and Phelous are still throwing things at him, and Snob looks as focused on the road as ever. She’s about to breathe a sigh of relief when she turns her head and sees Joe’s reflection in the dark window. He’s looking at her like he can’t believe what just happened; his mouth is hanging open, his eyes are wide with surprise. Chick’s stomach lurches in shame and when he catches her eye, Joe grins at her and winks.

Chick covers her face with her hand.

This trip will _never_ be over.


End file.
